One dropped name leads to another. Who was the guy
who used to fix our old brown Dodge sedan
in Berkeley, on that through street parallel
to ours––Milpas! No, that’s in Santa Barbara.
Milvia, yes? was ours. They’d named a bundle
of streets for plants: Cedar, Vine, Rose––and Grove!
Virginia Street was where Jo Miles would talk
and ask, but listen more. Any poet worth naming
dropped by Virginia Street when passing through
the Bay. She had read everything, everyone.
Wrote ninety penny-postcards a week… pre-email.

But that mechanic’s name’s as hard to fish out
as a dead sparkplug. However, the guy at the Shell
station at Mission and de la Vina, that’s now 
a coffee shop, who checked our water and oil,
that one I’m sure was Jim. The Berkeley guy,
I think––we think––was Joe.